


Noldolantë

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: B2MeM 2018, First Meetings, Fëanorian Week 2018, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Maglor and his wife throughout the Ages. (Started as a vignette for Fëanorion Week but kept growing.)





	Noldolantë

Makalaurë was 'strolling the boards' as the Teleri put it when it happened.

He found Alqualondë a confusing mix of the familiar and the strange – more sprawling than Tirion, and more populated, yet somehow also more intimate, a place where it was the custom to greet all and sundry as friends. It had taken him several days to grow used to the dimmer light, for the light of the Trees passed through the Calacirya, but did not illuminate the city of the Teleri to the same degree as that of the Noldor or the Vanyar.

The architecture, though it showed traces of Noldor influence, was not much like Tirion. Oh, the harbor had a scattering of graceful towers in addition to Olwë's, two of which were lit as beacons to guide returning ships safely home. But for the most part, the Teleri built out, not up, and wood was more noticeable than stone on many structures. Even the promenade he walked on was wooden, weaving lazily over and around the water, connecting various quays and the plazas on solid ground finished in stone and studded with coral. He’s told it’s a popular place to walk on all but the worst storm days.

He has yet to see any of those, for the storms people here speak of with respect, and reverence even, do not reach Tirion. His hosts assure him he can expect to see at least one when winter comes.

He had been homesick when he arrived, and tried hard to focus on the honor it was to be taken as a student at the Collegium at such a young age. It was difficult, though, when he sat his lessons alone, separate from the other students, for he had yet to master the tongue commonly used here.

In those days, it had been all too easy to believe the whispers in Tirion that this was no honor, but an implicit rebuke to his father. But Grandfather had been so sincerely pleased when his new law-daughter arranged everything that it was hard to think he had any thought but that his eldest son would be pleased also.

It had been vexing Curufinwë Fëanaro that his sons all seemed to be developing talents in which he himself did not excel and so could not instruct them. Maitimo, of course, was the easiest for him to understand. If diplomacy and statecraft came easy to his firstborn, Fëanaro could at least console himself that it was less that he had no talent for it than that he had no time for it. And of course, Finwë himself was keenly interested and supervising the education of his eldest grandson.

But then there was Celegorm, whose love for the woods and wild places and affinity for animals was far beyond the casual interest their parents had for such things – and Ammë was more noted for her love of nature than Atto, whose mind turned on words and crafts. Carnistir’s flair for needlework and desire to apprentice as a tailor seemed to unnerve their father more than please him- which had ceased to puzzle Fëanaro's sons once Celegorm heard Indis compare him favorably to Miriel.

And, of course, there was Makalaurë himself, whose gift for music and song was unmatched among the Noldor. He had studied all he could learn of music and composition in Tirion, but he was not so full of himself as to think that he knew all there was to know, or even all that was known to the elves. So he had eagerly accepted when Aunt Eärwen offered to arrange a place for him in Alqualondë.

He found himself being hosted by Olwë and his queen Suyelirë, both as pleased to welcome him into their home as if he’d been a nephew rather than just the nephew by law of their daughter. He had been somewhat less happy about the language, for Eärwen had not realized that he spoke only Noldorin and would have to learn the tongue of her people. Fortunately, as a friend and regular correspondent of Grandfather’s, Olwë could speak Noldorin, so while Makalaurë was assiduous at his lessons in Telerin with Suyelirë and practiced with Eärwen's brothers, he did have the occasional relief of conversation not stilted by his own lack of competence. (Nevermind eloquence, that could come later, for now he would settle for being able to find a reasonable word for what he meant, when he needed it, without fumbling about or thinking about it for so long that conversation would be disrupted.)

On his first weekend visit home, he had a quiet discussion with Maitimo about whether Atto’s insistence on not only Noldorin, but Noldorin as it had been spoken in Miriel’s day, might not be standing in the way of his sons’ educations. After all, unlike their Nolofinwion cousins, and presumably the Arafinwion cousins they will no doubt gain in due course, they have learned neither Vanyarin nor Telerin. Fëanaro had given them some cursory lessons on the elven tongue spoken prior to the completion of the Journey, but that wasn’t exactly useful for modern life.

Fortunately, the masters of the Collegium do not mind what elven language he speaks, so long as he is fluent in music. The notation used does not differ from Alqualondë to Tirion, nor do the gestures usually used when conducting. And of course, when one is focused on the music, it is not difficult to use osanwë, to bring one’s Music in tune with another’s. That too is a technique he is studying here, for the Teleri make more use of it than the Noldor. (The Vanyar do as well, he has heard, but he can hardly go study in Valimar. At least, not until he has learned all that Alqualondë has to teach. And even then, it will surely provoke his father.) His music lessons are a joy, and make all the rest worthwhile.

But for all that, he still finds Alqualondë a bit lonely, all the more so since his parents’ announcement that Carnistir is no longer the youngest son. He has to strike a balance now between visiting home often enough that his littlest brother will not regard him as a stranger when he comes into the light, but not so often as to hinder his immersion in Telerin and worsen his homesickness. Grandfather will be disappointed if he breaks off his study too soon, as will Aunt Eärwen. He does not wish to waste the effort she has gone through for him.

In his current mood, it was perhaps for the best that he heard the song before he could see who was singing. It was a  cheerful tune, the notes dancing up and down, and if he was not confident he was catching the words, he recognized the playfulness of the song, and an undercurrent of hope. It lifted his spirits, and gave him the courage to follow the sound to its source.

He rounded a bend where the promenade hugged the footprint of the harbormaster’s office, and caught sight of the singer. Her hair was not the silver of Olwë and Suyelirë, nor the dark hair of the Teleri, but a shade of pale brown that he would have termed palomino on a horse, but was uncertain what to call on an elf.

“ _Well met, friend_ ,” she said politely, interrupting her song.

“ _Well met indeed_ ,” Makaurë replied, thankful that he could at least manage such simple phrases creditably.  “ _Please, do not stop to sing for me_.”

The not quite suppressed smile told him clearly that he had not gotten that entirely right.

“Not to worry about,” she assured him – in Noldorin, to his surprise. “Certain am I not all my wordings in your tongue are correct.”

He blinked, and since she has switched languages, he followed suit.

“You speak Noldorin?” he asked.

“Speak? Maybe,” she replied with a smile. “You know better than I. Try, yes.”

“You are better at Noldorin than I am at Telerin,” he told her ruefully.

“ _Lindarin,”_ she corrected. “If we give you your liked name, you should do us the same. How long are you learning? I study some years with my cousin – she learned for her weddage? No, not the right word. How do you say in Noldorin when two are joined?”

“Marriage,” Makalaurë explained. “The ceremony itself is a wedding. And in Lindarin?”

She gave him the correct words, and he added them to his constantly expanding vocabulary. These would likely prove more useful than the grab bag of fish related terms he was picking up in the market.

“I suppose that was sensible if your cousin planned to move to Tirion,” he continued ruefully. “It’s very difficult not being able to have conversations.”

His singer laughed.

“Too fast! Too fast!” she chirped. “If you learn yourself, surely you know how hard to keep time when all is _vivace_. _Andante_ will be better.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the musical term, which he didn’t think was a general Lindarin usage, and his smile broadened when she emphasized her point by adding a few whistled notes at the two tempos with a frustrated face and a smiling face to demonstrate the difference.

“Very true, I beg your pardon. And in my excitement at finally having a conversation with someone other than my hosts or the music masters, I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë.”

He saw the split second of surprise and hesitation before his new friend answered.

“Lorilindë,” she answered, with the slight bow of her head that was good manners Telerin fashion.

He returned the gesture, hoping he was doing it right. Perhaps he should ask Suyelirë for the proper etiquette for such introductions. So far he has only learned what to do on formal occasions.  But the Teleri were generally informal, so it should be right if he simply mirrored her gesture…he hoped.

“Will you walk with me, Lady Lorilindë?” he asked, trying to find the right balance between Noldorin manners (which he knew were the butt of not always gentle jokes here) and Telerin ease. “I would be happy to give you a chance to practice your Noldorin, and you might return the favor and let me do the same with Lindarin.”

The hesitation this time, if there was any, was covered well enough that he did not catch it.

“I think that a good bargain, Kanafinwë Makalaurë,” she said.

There was a note of laughter in her voice, and it would not be until some weeks later that Lorilindë explained why. (To give both names is by Lindarin mores impossibly stuffy for a chance meeting on the promenade, even for a prince.) But today, Makalaurë cared only that he has, against all odds, found someone outside the palace walls he can converse with, and may even be able to sing with.


End file.
